


For My Yoke Is Light

by SophiaOfTheSevenStorms



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, I hope I actually finish this one, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Some angst, That may change, but only if I don't chicken out, rated teen for now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-04 01:43:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12760560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophiaOfTheSevenStorms/pseuds/SophiaOfTheSevenStorms
Summary: On the run from the Institute and the authorities, Jonathan finds help from an unlikely source.





	For My Yoke Is Light

He didn’t want to believe it at first. It was a miserable evening, clouds the colour of old bruises clogging up the sky and slow, cold rain soaking into his shoes. Gerard Keay walked through the streets with his head down, dodging students, cyclists and the occasional tourist undeterred by the weather. 

He was turning into a deserted alley between two of the older colleges when he first felt it. It was all the usual signs - a prickling of the hairs at the back of his neck, a faint chill that had nothing to do with the cold night air, the rush of his heartbeat sending blood coursing through his veins. Yet it was more, far more than that. It was the feeling of standing on the edge of an impossibly high cliff and gazing into a black ocean churning far, far below, of staring up at the night’s sky until the stars appeared to dance, of moving through a thick crowd only to realise that all eyes were staring right at you. 

“Fuck!” Gerard glanced around, hoping no one had heard the muttered curse. _I don’t have time for this. Not now._ But he knew it wasn’t something he could ignore. Rounding the corner, he peered down the alley, squinting through the low light to identify the source of the sudden disturbance. It didn’t take long. 

The man was huddled beneath a shallow doorway, a dark raincoat pulled across his body and obscuring most of his face. He was slumped to one side and, as Gerard drew closer, it became clear that he was barely conscious. The man’s face- from the little he could see of it- was handsome, in a fey, fragile kind of way, but he was obviously more than half-starved and his skin had a sickly sheen to it that had nothing to do with the poor lighting. But none of these details mattered. His eyes noticed them in the same way a fleeing captive notices the hair colour of the soldiers that finally track him down- briefly, barely registering, irrelevant next to the threat of inescapable doom. Staring down at the sleeping stranger, all his eyes could see was light. 

Tendrils of light, white-gold and iridescent, curled out from the man like the corona of the sun. It snaked out from beneath his raincoat and skittered across the wet tarmac, stopping a few metres from his body. If Gerard concentrated, he could make the light fade or even disappear completely- it wasn’t _really_ there, after all- but the effort it took was immense. 

Slowly, with great care, he crouched down next to the unconscious man and tilted his head so he could check for a pulse. The man- fine, it was time to be honest with himself- the _Archivist_ was clearly alive but Gerard wasn’t sure how long that would last. As he’d feared, the Archivist’s pulse was weak and his skin was far too warm. If he hadn’t stumbled across him, he wasn’t sure he’d have lasted the night. That was far too great a coincidence for him to be comfortable with but there was nothing he could do about that now. Even if he had wanted to leave a deeply sick, defenceless man to die alone in an alley, he knew the Master they both served would never let him walk away. 

Groaning slightly, Gerard leant down and slung the Archivist’s arm over his shoulder, his own arm going round the man’s waist; he was a dead weight but he could lift him with far too much ease. Going to the hospital was out of the question, of course. Whatever the Archivist was running from, he must have been terrified of being caught if it led him to such an extreme state. 

The only thing he could think of was to take the man back to his own hotel room and then call in a whole lot of favours from the people he’d helped throughout the years- starting, but not limited to, those with medical expertise. He sighed, lifting his eyes up to the clouds still covering the darkening sky. It was going to be a long night. 

***

He didn’t feel cold. That was his first thought as consciousness slowly seeped back into him, followed by an awareness that his clothes were dry and whatever he was lying on was soft, comfortable and warm. A bed, the thought, it was probably a bed. A duvet grazed his chin, its weight reassuring against his chest. For a moment he just let his awareness drift without direction, content to enjoy the feeling without question. He was warm, dry and, most unbelievably of all, he wasn’t in pain. He’d almost forgotten what that felt like and it felt almost too good to be true. Perhaps it was.

...Just where was he?

Jon blinked, fighting against the light to open his eyes. He might not be in pain any more, but that didn’t mean he was out of danger. Perhaps the police had finally tracked him down, or someone had found him when he was sick and sent him to the hospital, where he would surely be identified. Perhaps the police were in the room with him right now- or worse, Elias. Elias had already murdered Gertrude and Leitner, what would he do to him? He couldn’t stay and find out. Jon kicked his legs and twisted his body, trying to shake off the bedcovers. His eyes welled up as he tried, too fast, to open them. He thought he could make out a dark shape against the streaming sunlight and he gasped, his heartbeat punching against his ribs. 

“Calm down, Archivist.” A hand came to rest on top of his, warm fingers closing over his cold ones and fear froze him in place. “Don’t try to move too much. You still need to regain your strength.” 

It was a man’s voice, soft and not particularly deep, but with an unmistakable air of authority. A slightest hint of south London sharpness cut through the upper-middle class accent and relief washed through him. Whoever the man was, he wasn’t Elias. As Jon’s eyes adjusted to the light, he could begin to make the stranger out more clearly. He kept his glances brief, not yet daring to look the stranger in the eyes. He was reasonably tall, certainly taller than Jon himself, and paler than most people. His hair was a dirty blond and hung down to just above his shoulders. He was clearly trying his best to look non-threatening, but there was something about the set of his jaw that told Jon this was far from the truth. 

“Wh-who…” Jon coughed, struggling to sit up. The stranger passed him a glass of water and he took it, unthinking. His throat was so dry. “Who are you? What do you want?” A few heartbeats more and the true import of the man’s words caught up with him, almost making him spill the rest of the water. “ _How do you know who I am?_ ” 

The man took the glass from him. His thumb stroked over Jon’s trembling hand. He didn’t know why he wasn’t pulling away- normally he couldn’t stand being touched even by close friends, especially not in a way that seemed so intimate. But there was something about this stranger that made the touch seem acceptable, comforting even, and he couldn’t bring himself to end it. 

“It’s okay, Archivist. I’m not going to hurt you. I mean, if I wanted to do that, I had plenty of opportunity when you were unconscious.” Jon flinched and the man sighed, finally withdrawing his hand. Jon tried not to feel disappointed at its loss. 

“Sorry. That came out far worse than I meant it to. I don’t really get the chance to talk to that many people these days… All I’m trying to say is, you can trust me. Whatever you’re running from, I’m here to protect you from it.” 

“Who are you?” Jon repeated. “Why do you care what happens to me?” 

Something about the mysterious man did make Jon want to trust him but if the last few months had taught him anything, it was that his instincts were next to useless when it came to the world he found himself tangled up in. He resented the insinuation that he couldn’t take care of himself but he could hardly argue against it, not given… how things had turned out. He looked up again and this time dared to look the stranger in the eyes. They were a startling blue, as deep and dark as the surface of the ocean on a sunny day. Something about them made him feel dizzy. 

“Sorry. I forget sometimes, you can’t just... “ The man shook his head, smiling. “Well, never mind that. My name’s Gerard Keay. ”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, hope you enjoyed the first chapter! It may be self-indulgent, wish-fulfilment fluff, but we all need some of that, particularly with season three fast approaching. Thanks to Flammenkobold for beta reading this fic and indulging me as I moaned about how hard writing it is. <3


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